


Respect Your Elders

by mahbecks



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alcohol, Bad Jokes, Bonding with your Boyfriend's Dad, Chill XV, Clarus is a Cutthroat Bastard, Crack Treated Seriously, Humor, Language, M/M, Total Male Posturing, father-son bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 22:37:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10054637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahbecks/pseuds/mahbecks
Summary: “Gladio is going to hate this,” Ignis said, smirking. “Is your goal to render your son apoplectic?”“Well, I can’t let him one-up me, now, can I?” Clarus grunted. “My pride is on the line.”“But you're perfectly alright with ruining your son's pride, I take it.”Clarus became quite stern, steel in his voice. “There can only be one reigning Amicitia, Ignis. There can only be one.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative summary: I needed to see Gladio and Clarus bro-down to see who is the greatest Amicitia of them all. 
> 
> Please don't take it too seriously, haha, this is really just further proof of how deep in the trash can I am. 
> 
> A big thanks to my pal, RedHawkeRevolver, for giving me some great ideas for this little crack-shot <3 Also, I am totally stealing the idea of Minx!Nyx Ulric from her, a la her fabulous series, "Shield Me from the Storm". All the credit to her for making him so delicious ;)

“No way.”

Ignis raised at eyebrow at the surety in his lover’s voice. “You’re very confident, aren’t you?” he replied, taking a sip of his coffee.

“It ain’t a question of confidence,” Gladio retorted. “It’s just how it is.”

“Is it.”

“Look, Iggy, my dad’s great. He’s one of the best fighters Lucis has ever seen. He has to be, yeah? He’s the King’s sworn shield. But I’m better.”

The corners of Ignis’ mouth twitched with suppressed mirth. “And you know this, do you?”

“I’m thirty years younger than him!” Gladio said. “That has to count for something!” He eyed Ignis suspiciously then, crossing his arms over his chest. “You know, I’m a little hurt by your lack of faith in me.”

“I have complete faith in you,” Ignis disagreed, taking another sip of coffee. “But I also think that your ego knows no bounds.” He couldn’t resist needling the other, he really couldn’t. Not when he made it so damn _easy._

Gladio glared at him. “You’re supposed to be on _my_ team, not his.”

“Who said anything about teams? Is this a competition?”

“Well, maybe it should be!”

“And what are you going to do, Gladio, go up to your father and challenge him to an arm wrestling contest?”

Gladio actually appeared to be considering it.

“That was a joke, Gladio.”

To Ignis’ dismay, his lover ignored him, hopping up from the table and striding across the cafeteria to where his father was sitting, surrounded by several other older Crownsguard members. Hurriedly, Ignis rose and followed, hoping to mitigate some of the damage this exchange might cause.

He got to the table just as Gladio seated himself, directly in front of his father, his only greeting a terse, clipped, “Yo.”

Clarus turned to his son, the conversation he had been having fading away. “Gladiolus,” he said stiffly, frowning.

“I wanna fight.”

Clarus blinked at him, his face betraying nothing of whatever he was feeling. Beside him, his friends were stirring uneasily, staring at Gladio as if he had just announced to his father that he was giving up on his family’s sacred duty and running off to become a gardener.

“You want to… fight?” he finally said, repeating Gladio’s statement.

“Yeah,” Gladio said. “Like a contest. To see which of us is stronger.”

Clarus raised an eyebrow. Briefly, his eyes flicked up to Ignis - and if Ignis wasn’t mistaken, there was _amusement_ in his steely eyes.

“This is ridiculous,” the man to Clarus’ left said hotly. “How dare you come over here and challenge your father like this!”

“You should respect your elders!” the man on the right added.

“Why, in my day-”

“I accept.”

Stunned silence met Clarus’ words. Both of his friends looked at him incredulously, their mouths hanging open. The King’s sworn shield ignored him, focusing entirely on Gladio.

“Time and place?”

Gladio thought about this for a moment. “Maybe we should do a series of tasks instead,” he said. “So that victory isn’t based on just one thing.”

“Very well. I’ll leave it up to you to come up with the challenges, since this is your idea.”

"I'll call you with the details."

"See that you do."

Gladio nodded and rose to his feet. Clarus spoke just as he turned to Ignis, an excited look on his face.

“Gladiolus?”

He turned back, raising an eyebrow at his father. “Yeah?”

“Best of luck, son. You’ll need it.”

As Ignis turned to follow his lover out of the cafeteria, he swore he saw Clarus wink at him.

* * * * *

Ignis tried to talk Gladio out of it. He spent a good portion of the day presenting the other with all sorts of logical reasons as to why this series of challenges was a bad idea. But Gladio was having none of it. He was thrilled at the prospect of finally getting to test himself against his father, the man whom he had idolized for so long. And worse, Clarus had _agreed_ to the whole thing. Ignis would have thought that the elder Amicitia would have had more sense than that, but apparently not.

It was getting to be quite late that night when he suddenly received a phone call. He frowned as he looked down at the device, not recognizing the number blinking on the screen. Still, he supposed that he had better answer it. It might be an emergency.

“Hello?” he answered hesitantly.

“Ignis, this is Clarus Amicitia.”

“Good evening, sir,” Ignis replied, surprise coloring his tone. Why would Gladio's father be calling _him_? His stomach lurched unpleasantly at the thought, mind rushing to several equally bad conclusions. “Can I - is everything alright?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Everything is fine. I got your phone number from Iris - I hope you don’t mind me calling you at this time of night.”

A wave of relief flooded through Ignis, and he let out a low breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. “Not at all, sir.”

“I have a proposition for you.”

“A proposition?”

“Regarding my son.”

“Ah.”

“It’s about this challenge he’s thrown at me.”

“Sir, I’m so sorry, I tried to talk him out of it,” Ignis said quickly, “But he wouldn’t listen to me.”

An amused chuckle met his ears. “No, I bet he didn’t. That’s perfectly alright, Ignis. My son can be a bit bullish when he wants to be. As it is, I am perfectly happy to appease his need to challenge me to a series of ridiculous tasks aiming to prove our masculinity to each other.”

“You are?”

“Of course! It’s only natural for a son to want to best his father, I think. However,” and here Clarus paused, a devious hint to his voice, “I think we should have some fun with him, you and I. You see, I don’t intend on losing to Gladiolus in _anything._ ”

Ignis was intrigued. “What did you have in mind, sir?” he asked, sitting down at a table and removing a notebook from one of his pockets. He had a feeling that he might need to take notes for this.

“Here’s my idea…”

They chatted for the next ten minutes, Ignis growing more and more enthusiastic for Clarus’ plans. He had had no idea that Gladio’s father was so conniving. But to be honest, he was enjoying every second of this. Together, they managed to come up with a plan to throw multiple wrenches into Gladio’s own carefully selected challenges, which he had announced to Clarus earlier that night. They were mainly brutish feats of strength or stereotypical feats of masculinity, as Ignis had known they would be. Gladio wasn’t unintelligent, and the people who knew him well realized that he didn’t fit the mold of the dumb jock, but he did tend to play to his strengths.

When they were finished, Ignis read over his notes once more. “Gladio is going to hate this,” he said, smirking. “Is your goal to render your son apoplectic?”

“Well, I can’t let him one-up me, now, can I?” Clarus grunted. “My pride is on the line.”

“But aren’t you also prideful at your son’s strength?”

“Oh, of course. But you have to remember, Ignis, the Amicitia family is a very old and very prestigious one, with one single member living to serve the King as his sworn shield and protector. Right now, that person is me. Not my son. And he would do well to remember that. He’ll have his day, when Noctis takes over for his father.”

“I see.”

“He’ll be the best - someday. To tell you the truth, if this were a brute test of strength, he would probably win even now. I’m not a young man anymore, Ignis. But I’ve got one thing he doesn’t have.”

“A cutthroat mentality.”

Clarus chuckled. “You see how it is, Ignis. I always liked that about you.”

“You're perfect alright with ruining your son's ego, I take it.”

“Oh, that would take a fair bit of doing. I doubt I could ruin it even if I beat him at every competition he set before me. Even if I did, it’d just grow back. But he does need to be reminded of a few things. And I need to let him know something.”

“And what’s that, sir?” Ignis asked.

Clarus became very stern then, steel in his voice. “There can only be one reigning Amicitia, Ignis. There can only be one.”

* * * * *

News of the gauntlet had spread through the Citadel like wildlife.

When Ignis let himself into the training rooms the day of the challenge, he found the room packed with men and women. Most were members of the Crownsguard, intent upon seeing two of their number duke it out to see who would reign supreme. A few others were there as well - Noctis and Prompto, the Amicitia’s butler, Jared, and of course, Iris. They were all crowded around the two towering figures in the middle, standing on opposite sides of a table.

Ignis had to force his way through the crowd to Gladio’s side.

“Hey, Iggy,” his lover greeted, smiling when Ignis finally made it to the table.

“Ignis,” Clarus greeted from across the table. One of his hands was supporting his chin, and as Ignis watched, he reached up with one finger and tapped his nose in a conspiratory sort of way. Ignis gave a barely perceptible nod in return before turning back to Gladio.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“More than ready!” Gladio crowed, grinning. “I was born ready!”

Ignis sighed, shaking his head fondly. Noctis and Prompto appeared at his elbows then, speaking animatedly to Gladio about the first challenge. Much to Ignis’ bemusement, Gladio had indeed selected arm wrestling. The table standing between him and his father had been carefully selected, set at just the right height for the two men. It was a simple task, the simplest Gladio had selected - the first to hold the other’s arm down for a span of three seconds was the winner.

Clarus had decided to throw this one to his son - in a not-so-obvious manner, of course. He would put up a good fight, and struggle with his son a bit, and then, in the end, allow him the victory. It was all to build Gladio up, to make the downfall all the more poignant.

The elder Amicitia had been quite excited at the prospect of ripping his son to shreds. Ignis had made a mental note to never get on Clarus’ bad side.

All of a sudden, a hush fell over the crowd. Ignis frowned, wondering what had caused the silence. The reason became apparent a moment later, when the masses parted to allow Regis, King of Lucis, through, Cor Leonis fast on his heel.

“Your Majesty,” Clarus said, immediately falling into a bow. His son was only a moment behind, as were Ignis and the rest of the Crownsguard.

“Clarus,” Regis replied, nodding at his sworn shield. He scowled then, staring up at the man defiantly. It would have been comical - for Clarus topped Regis by a good head and half - were this not Regis Lucis Caelum. As it was, the King managed to make his towering shield took small. “I think you forgot to invite someone to your party!”

Clarus blinked.

“Did you think I’m too busy to take a few moments out of my day for such glorious sport?” Regis continued. Cor had produced a chair out of somewhere, Ignis noticed, and the King gratefully sank down into it. “I feel I should be most insulted!”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Clarus said quickly. “I didn’t think-” He paused then, and let out a rare smile. “Come to watch, have you?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss this,” Regis said, his eyes dancing. He looked over at Gladio then, nodding towards him. “Gladiolus, do me a favor and go easy on this old fart, here. I don't think his heart can take the strain.” Clarus scowled at this blatant disrespect of his abilities, to which Regis responded with a sly grin.

Gladio grinned at the King. “Not a chance.” Appalled at the lack of formality in his tone, Ignis stepped on his foot, and he hastily added, “Sir.”

“You’re cruel, not to take pity on an old man!” Regis sighed and then waved a hand. “Well, don’t let my presence hold you up. Carry on!”

“Right then!” Nyx Ulric stepped forward, grinning at his two fellow Crownsguard members. He had been selected by Clarus as the unofficial referee, a - relatively - neutral party who would fairly officiate the events. He was also, as Clarus had gleefully informed Ignis, in on the secret. Ignis wasn't sure how he felt about this, as he wasn't overly fond of Nyx himself. The man made eyes at everyone and everything, including Gladio, who was very much taken.

Very. Much. Taken.

Nyx quickly ran through the rules of the event, and then asked each participant if they understood. After both had given their assent, he instructed them to place their chosen arms on the table, their other behind their back.

In terms of musculature, Ignis thought Gladio and his father were pretty evenly matched. It was hard to say who would have come out the victor in a true contest between them. As it was, he hoped Clarus could put up a convincing front. Otherwise, their plan might be doomed.

But he need not have worried.

Nyx counted them down, and the contest was on. Both men put up a great show, huffing and straining as they tried to pin each other’s arm to the table. Their faces turned red with effort, arms quivering on the table. For about a minute, they struggled with each other. And then, Clarus’ arm slowly began to sag, sinking closer and closer to the table’s surface. Gladio, sensing weakness, surged forward, one last burst of power allowing him to pin his father’s arm to the table for the requisite three seconds.

“And the winner of the arm-wrestling challenge is Gladio!” Nyx proclaimed.

“Hah!” Gladio cried victoriously, raising his winning arm to the cheers of the younger Crownsguard members

“Early luck,” Clarus sniffed, putting on a marvelous air of disdain. “We’ll see who wins in the end.”

After a few moments of celebration, Nyx clapped his hands together to get everyone’s attention. “And the next challenge will be in the weight room, ladies and gents, so if you will, if you will!” he cried, motioning for people to get a move on. Clarus was one of the first to leave, turning to Regis to help him out of his chair - but not before he flashed a covert wink at Ignis, who barely suppressed a smirk and turned to Gladio.

“Nicely done,” he said.

“I knew I had him, once he started shaking,” Gladio said enthusiastically, slinging an arm around Ignis’ shoulders. “I had that one in the bag.”

“Certainly,” Ignis agreed.

“And next up is bench pressing!” Gladio snorted. “C’mon, everyone knows I bench the most out of anyone in the Crownsguard! Piece of cake.”

“It should be quite easy for you.”

Gladio's expression turned thoughtful for a moment, and he turned to Ignis hesitantly.“Hey... maybe I should go easy on him. So I don’t embarrass him too much. What do you think, Iggy?”

“Hmmm. I rather think you should go all out,” he replied, choosing his words carefully. He couldn't make it _too_ obvious, but he simply couldn't allow Gladio to do such a thing. It would ruin all of their carefully laid plans. “You wouldn’t want your father to know you were going easy on him, would you?”

“Mmm, yeah, think you’re right,” Gladio mused. “I wouldn’t want him to be going easy on me.”

They had reached the weight room now, and Gladio let his hand drop from Ignis’ shoulders to go and join his father. Ignis found himself standing by none other than the King, to whom he nodded respectfully as he took his place.

Two benches had been set up specifically for the purposes of this challenge. They stood in the middle of the room, the other exercise equipment pushed off to the side. Both bars had been preloaded with about four hundred pounds of weight - or at least, so it would appear.

Clarus’ duplicity was coming into play for the first time. The secret was in the color of the weights - black was eighty pounds, yellow was fifty, green was twenty-five, and the blue ones were one hundred each. Each bar had two blue, two yellow, and four green weights, divided equally between the left and right sides. But, as Clarus had gleefully informed Ignis over the phone, the color system had changed roughly twenty years ago, right after Gladio had been born. Previously, blue weights had been one hundred and fifty pounds a piece - the new system had lowered their standard to one hundred. It had been easy enough for Clarus to locate some of the older weights and load those up on Gladio’s bar.

Or easy enough when he had factored in Ignis’ help.

It was impossible to tell the difference between the two sets of blue weights. The only difference lay in the numbers emblazoned upon the rings, and those had been turned in towards each other. It had been entirely too easy for Ignis to accomplish. 

The two men had now settled into place beneath their bars, a fellow Crownsguard standing behind them in order to spot them. Nyx was, once again, explaining the rules, telling the assembled crowd that unlike the first challenge, this was a test of endurance - the man who could not lift his bar first was the loser.

This proved easy enough for all parties to understand, and soon the challenge was off. Gladio and Clarus easily lifted their bars and began performing reps of the exercise, keeping their movements strong and precise. For the first minute or so, the two men kept pace with each other. As one’s bar would rise, so would the other’s, and as one lowered the weight to their chest, the other would follow.

But then, slowly but surely, Gladio’s arms began to tire. It quickly became apparent that he was struggling to push the weight back up each time, his muscles straining in protest as he forced them to move. Red in the face, he turned to look at Clarus, who was still plugging along at a fair clip. “Not bad, old man!” he huffed.

“Hah! This ‘old man’ is going to kick your ass!” Clarus renewed his efforts then, forcing Gladio to either keep pace, or give up.

Gladio wasn’t going down without a fight. He too, renewed his efforts, the veins in his neck bulging as he forced his pectoral muscles to keep going.

Beside Ignis, Regis let out a chuckle. He turned to look at the King to find him openly grinning. “That sly bastard - he’s cheating, isn’t he?” he muttered, out of the side of his mouth. Ignis opened his mouth to reply, surprised, but Regis cut him off. “I know those weights from when I came here to train.” He chuckled, turning ever so slightly to the side. “And you’re in on this, are you?”

“It’s just a bit of fun, sire,” Ignis replied.

“Oh, certainly,” Regis said. His eyes were glittering with amusement. “The game is afoot!”

A loud surge of noise caught their attention then, and they both turned back to the action just in time to see Gladio’s arms give out on him, the bar falling back a few inches to land on his chest. Immediately, his spotter came forward to help return the bar to its rack. Clarus managed to do so on his own, Ignis noted, and he turned towards his son with a smirk on his face, the cheers of the older Crownsguard members at his back.

Gladio gave him a sour look.

“Well, son, I believe that makes us one-and-one,” Clarus said easily. “Shall we move on to the next?”

“You’re on,” Gladio said, eager to get away from the traitorous bench press competition. Immediately, he came over to Ignis, his visage like a thundercloud. “Did you see that?” he demanded roughly, looking over his shoulder to give his father a dark look. “How did he do that?”

“I guess that you underestimated him,” Ignis replied.

“Tch. Guess so.” Gladio shrugged his shoulders a couple times to roll out the kinks. “But I got the next one, Iggy. Running a mile." He grinned wolfishly. "I’ve always been faster than Dad. _Always._ ”

* * * * *

Gladio did prove to be the faster runner, completing one mile in just under six minutes to Clarus’ six and a half minute pace. He had then gone on to win the poker tournament and the noodle-eating competition - no surprises there, really. But Clarus had quickly bounced back and won the squat competition, as well as the deadlift competition and the hot-wing eating contest.

That last one hadn’t been much of a contest though. Ignis had ensured that the wings Gladio had gotten were _significantly_ spicier than the ones his father had eaten.

A part of him felt bad for sabotaging Gladio’s little competition. But another part of him insisted that the whole thing was rather asinine to begin with, and rather than be forced to endure such banal chest-beating, he should take his enjoyment where he could. It also ingratiated himself with Clarus, and considering that he was madly in love with Clarus’ son, he thought it good that they got along.

Very good, since Clarus could deadlift approximately six of Ignis.

The final competition, the one to break the tie, was, naturally, a drinking contest.

The Crownsguard had gathered in a local bar that had good private security and secluded booths. The manager had offered them the private use of the facility for the night, but Regis had graciously declined. Instead, he had taken to wearing a ridiculous outfit as a disguise - it was complete with pointed red leather boots and a ten-gallon hat, and if that wasn’t enough to make him laugh, Ignis found the rawhide _tassels_ on his shirt absolutely hysterical. Still, the disguise did its job - no one would ever guess that it was Regis Lucis Caelum who was sitting in a booth dressed as an old cattle rancher, sipping from a mojito. 

It was up to Ignis to procure the alcohol. On cue, he made his way to bar, asking for twelve shots of tequila - and twelve shots of water. One last devious trick to bring Gladio to his knees, he thought. The bartender seemed to think this an odd request, but went about fulfilling the order anyways.

“Could you put salt on all of the rims please?” Ignis asked. “And twenty-four lime wedges, if you would.”

“You trying to get someone fucked up?” the bartender guessed.

“Is it terribly obvious?”

“Only a little bit,” the bartender said, grinning. “So, uh, who’s the unlucky guy?”

“My boyfriend.”

“He… he do something to you? This revenge or something?”

“Oh, not at all,” Ignis said lightly. “He’s very good to me, more than I deserve. I’m simply bonding with his father.”

“Hah! Gotcha. Well, there you go, twelve shots of tequila and twelve shots of water.”

“Do you have the bottle by any chance?” Ignis asked. “We may need seconds.”

“Sure! Here, lemme get you a new one.”

“Thank you very much.”

Ignis walked back to the table carefully, the tray of shot glasses in one hand and the bottle of tequila in the other. It was shaped like a human skull, he noticed, a large stopper in the dome of the cranium. It was a fitting shape for a bottle of tequila, he supposed, especially when he read how strong a proof it was. He was very grateful that he was not being forced to drink tonight.

He arranged the tray carefully, making sure that the water was in front of Clarus and the tequila in front of Gladio. He then set the bottle on the other side of the table. “Compliments of the bar,” he said, to the raucous applause of the Crownsguard.

Gladio grabbed the first glass with one hand and a lime wedge with the other. Across the table, Clarus mimicked his actions.

Nyx counted them down, and both of them drank. Clarus put up an admirable show, Ignis thought, grimacing at the “foul” taste of the tequila and then the sour bite of the lime.

“Damn!” Gladio spluttered, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “That shit’s strong!”

“Too strong for you, son?” Clarus challenged. “Rather have a soda?”

“You wish,” Gladio retorted, grinning as he quickly pounded the second shot.

Noctis, who was sitting on Ignis’ right, turned towards him with a smirk. “He is going to be so trashed,” he said.

“I fear you’re right,” Ignis agreed.

“Good luck getting him into bed.”

Ignis frowned - he hadn’t thought that far in advance. “I… may require some assistance in getting him home.”

“Get Nyx to help,” Noctis suggested, snickering. “He seems like he’d be all over it.”

Ignis looked up to see that Nyx had draped himself across Gladio’s shoulders, dropping all pretenses of neutrality and encouraging the younger Amicitia on.

He scowled. “I will not be asking him to do any such thing,” he snapped.

“Jealous, Specs?”

“Hardly.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Besides, I have you and Prompto to assist me.”

“Wait, I never said-”

“Do you want your father to know the real reason the Regalia’s tail lights are damaged?”

“...no.”

“Then you _will_ help me.”

Noctis begrudgingly agreed. “Okay, _fine._ But just so you know, blackmailing a prince is illegal.”

“So is driving thirty miles over the speed limit without a license, _your Highness_ , but you don’t see me tattling.”

Half an hour later, and the two men had reached the end of their initial twelve shots. Gladio, well on his way to a gut-wrenching hangover, quickly demanded more, and Nyx - with delight, Ignis noted sourly - was happy to oblige. Clarus, on the other hand, was looking thoroughly relaxed, grinning at his son like the cat that caught the canary.

“How are you not more drunk?” Gladio demanded, pointing a finger at his father.

“How are you _this_ drunk?” Clarus scoffed. “In my day, Crownsguard knew how to handle their liquor!” This statement was met with thunderous applause from the older group - including, Ignis noted with surprise, Regis.

“I’m not drunk!” Gladio protested. He reached down for a shot glass and missed, sending its contents all over the table. He laughed at this. “Okay, maybe I’m a _little_ drunk.” But he amiably reached for another glass, successfully lifting it to his lips and pouring the tequila down his throat.

Yes, Ignis would definitely have his work cut out for him after this was all over.

After a staggering eighteen shots in the course of an hour, Gladio faceplanted onto the table, succumbing to the liquor at last.

The elder Crownsguard rose to their feet in victory, clapping Clarus on the back and declaring him the greatest of the great. He accepted their congratulations easily, waving it off as if it was nothing - which it was, technically, since he'd only succeeded in downing what amounted to a large cup of water. Ignis didn’t see much more of the celebration, however, as he had to quickly escort Gladio to the restroom to empty the contents of his stomach.

“Fuck,” Gladio moaned, clutching the toilet like a lifeline. “How did he do that, Iggy? _How_?”

“There, there,” Ignis said, handing Gladio a napkin to wipe his face off and silently making a solemn vow to throw away every article of clothing his lover was currently wearing. “You _did_ down the tequila awfully fast.”

“Don’t say that word!” Gladio said, shuddering.

“What, fast?”

“No - _tequila._ ”

Ignis stayed by his side until he was finished, offering him small glasses of water every now and then to try and keep him hydrated. He seemed much better by the time they left the bathroom, though Gladio was still leaning on Ignis like he was a cane.

The Crownsguard had all disappeared, Clarus, Prompto, and Noctis the sole remaining members of their group.

“Alright there, son?” Clarus asked, clapping a hand to Gladio’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Gladio said weakly. He paused, and then glared up at his father. “Shit. Guess you won, Dad.”

"You don't have to say it like that, you know."

"Like what?"

"Like it's the worst thing that's ever happened to you." Clarus chuckled at his son, meeting Ignis’ eyes. “After all, there can only be one, Gladio.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

Clarus patted Ignis on the back. “My sincere thanks, Ignis,” he said. “This has been fun.” Gladio swooned dangerously on his feet then, eyes a little glassy, and Clarus shot Ignis an amused look. “Make sure he gets home alright, will you? There’s a good lad.”

Then he waltzed out of the bar with the bottle of leftover tequila tucked into the crook of his arm, whistling to himself as he hailed a taxi to take him back to the Citadel.

And so it was that Gladio learned - at some cost to his considerable ego - that he was not the reigning Amicitia.

That title, for now at least, belonged to Clarus, and Clarus alone.

**Author's Note:**

> I KNOW YOUR PAIN, GLADIO. Tequila is literally bad decisions in a bottle.
> 
> Thanks for reading this :)


End file.
